


A cosy unit

by likingthistoomuch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based in T6T timeline., F/M, Or AU where Mary lives, Rosie is smart, She can help her God Parents, who need a nudge in the right direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/pseuds/likingthistoomuch
Summary: Molly gets a visual proof of Sherlock's close family and its newest member's sharp skills.





	1. Proud Achievement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emma_Lynch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Lynch/gifts), [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> Trying small somethings to get around the writer's block. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Dedicated to the two ladies in the fandom who inspire always.

The moment she stepped inside the door left ajar, Molly felt she was interrupting. Or rather, interfering in a very personal moment.

John and Mary were sprawled across each other on the sofa, dead to the world. The dark circles under their eyes paid homage to late nights and frequently disturbed sleep. She gently opened the door further, just enough to allow her entry into the flat. Rosie’s carrier was placed on the chair across Sherlock’s, but there wasn’t any baby in it.

Turning to look into the kitchen, she unknowingly became a spectator for a game underway.

The kitchen was empty, but the baby and her Godfather were in his bedroom, facing the mirror and making faces. Or to be precise, Sherlock was making faces and Rosie was looking only mildly entertained. The level of her interest was further proved when she threw the toy in her hand on the floor and clapped her hands with glee.

Ah, Molly knew  _that_  game. And no matter how much you tried to distract her, once Rosie was determined to play fetch, there was no deterring her.

As expected, Sherlock picked up the toy with a huff but didn’t hand it to the child immediately. Holding it just beyond her reach, he teased her. Rosie tried in vain to reach it, her chubby and small arms stretched to their farthest.

She then proved she was Mary Watson’s daughter by suddenly ignoring the toy altogether and mushing her face against her Godfather’s cheek.

Sherlock stood stunned for a moment, blinking and lowered his arm just so, enabling Rosie to grab her toy. A chortle of unadulterated joy filled the closed space.

Outmanoeuvred by his god daughter, there was pure joy and pride on his face. A face that was again Rosie’s focus as she squished her face against his cheek again.

“Oh Watson,” Sherlock sighed.

Molly smiled.

“Don’t get any silly thoughts there Molly.  _Rosie_  tolerates  _me,_  I have not suddenly turned into a paternal person.”

She wasn’t surprised at all that he had seen her and chose to ignore her.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face said enough. Besides, I doubt I will be in proximity to another human spawn, unless the Watsons breed like rabbits. The familiarity ends with this one.”

“Maybe.”

There was a pause before he responded.

“Please don’t say I have paternalistic inclinations, even  _you_  can’t be that lame.”

There was a time when Molly would’ve been frustrated by his words. But what she saw now soothed her heart in a way she hadn’t imagined.

“I wouldn’t  _dream_  of calling you that Sherlock.”

Gently swinging Rosie, he continued to look at Molly, eyebrows raised.

She sighed, looking pleased for him.

“It’s a lovely, close knit family you have there, Sherlock…one that you found all by yourself. I’m just happy that it’s grown in the best way possible.”

Looking at the baby busy gnawing at her toy, he got a soft look on his face.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

Molly Hooper then held her breath; having just seen a look of pure love in Sherlock’s eyes she wanted the moment to last forever.

But the look soon turned to exasperation when Rosie threw the toy further inside his room.

“Oh come on, Watson. High time you learnt about actions and consequences.”

Molly laughed silently, then turned on the spot and immediately left the flat. She knew he wouldn’t mind her presence, but she had enough sense to not interfere in that private moment between Rosie and her Godfather.

Xx

When Sherlock came out of his room, he frowned when he noticed Molly had left.

“What shall we do, Watson,” he sighed at the baby in his arms. “How do we convince Aunt Molly that she is a part of this family too?”

Rosie responded by squishing her face against his cheek yet again.

Sherlock smiled. Mary Watson’s baby was clever indeed.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little snippet of life at Baker Street post the shootout at the aquarium.

The steps were still seventeen but the climb was getting difficult every day. The weight she was carrying kept getting heavier and heavier, and there was no end in sight.

As Molly finally reached the landing, she stood facing Sherlock’s door, waiting…not sure for what but she knew she needed a moment. Hanging her coat by the door, she slowly pushed it open.

Sherlock was seated at his laptop in the living room, a steaming cup next to him.

“Tea,” he asked without looking up.

She nodded then realising that he hadn’t looked at her, went to the kitchen to get her cup. Dropping her bag on the table, she saw the table surface she hadn’t ever before; it had been polished until it was shining.

Throwing him a worried glance, she took her cup and sat in John’s chair.

“Sherlock.”

“Seventeen models- seventeen different models of cars and they selected a BMW to get away. Talk about the stupidity of the London criminal reaching new depths.”

“Sherlock!”

“And that just was case number eight. Solved nine before I reached my coat, ten took me around the block. Thirteen needed a trip to NSY-”

“Sherlock,” she sighed.

There was silence as he continued to look at the laptop screen, not reading a single word being displayed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down; rapid blinking of the eyes followed by a deep inhalation.

“How’s he,” he rasped out, somehow sounding as if he had spoken for the first time in ages.

“Not good,” she honestly replied. It was the least she could do.

“And…and she,” she ignored the tiny break in his voice.

“Better than him. Or maybe I cannot read her that well,” Molly almost whispered out the last bit. She wasn’t going to admit that she had been babysitting Rosie the last two nights, and that the child had actually cried herself to an exhausted sleep. John hadn’t looked any better either.

“Yes. Yes, a child needs its mother. She associates the smell and warmth of her mother’s body with safety and-and home.”

Molly couldn’t respond; there was a bitter yet blatant truth in his words.

“I always knew I was cruel. I pretended to be dead and joked about the pain John went through in my absence. But this…I stooped to a new low, Molly-”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sherlock,” she cut him.

_“How would you know? You weren’t even there!”_

Molly inhaled sharply; Sherlock being mean wasn’t new, yet he had never lashed out at her before.

“I was lucky, and then I threw it all away.” He looked deflated, a lost, tired man.

Molly had no words; nothing she could say or do would lessen his guilt or sorrow. The weight of John’s grief, of Rosie’s confusion at her mother’s absence coupled with Sherlock’s guilt…it was something that was unloaded on her shoulders every day.

And whoever said sharing your grief lessened it had no idea what he was talking about. They were all miserable, and there seemed to be no end in sight of their current plight.

“I wish it was me. Every moment I live I wish it were me and not her.”

She knew he felt it, knew he wished he had been the recipient of that bullet. But to actually hear him say those words broke her heart.

“They would’ve had each other, they would’ve managed. I broke a young family, Molly. That’s a huge burden to bear.”

He looked angry, defeated, and wretchedly miserable. She guessed he must’ve heard the “it wasn’t  your fault” a million time by now and that it would’ve only added to his misery.

But did anyone ever feel what she felt? Could she say what had been her reaction?

“I am glad.”

When he looked up at her with a frown, she knew she had to blurt it out before she panicked.

“I know this isn’t the right thing to say, and God knows I wish Mary was alive. But I am also glad that it wasn’t you.”

She couldn’t decipher the exact look in his eyes; they were a weird mixture of shock and confusion tinged with anger. But she could take it; she was stronger than she looked.

“Everyone needs time, Sherlock. It might take months but you’ll get there.”

“I doubt-”

“You _will_ get there, Sherlock. I promise.”

He looked at her then, as if seeing her for the first time that evening. She though he was going to say something, he definitely tried to but instead turned away.

Silence reigned for quite some time before he broke it in the simplest way.

“Thank you,” he said.


End file.
